


when your mind's made up

by sordes



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rope Bondage, Vaginal Sex, failing marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sordes/pseuds/sordes
Summary: “I want you to tie me up, Bayek.”True to form Aya’s voice is steady, the slight lilt in her words warm but her tone commanding. A stark contrast to the way her heart pounds against her ribcage and how her palms are suddenly slick with sweat. Still, she holds her husband’s gaze, unflinching and unashamed of the request. Bayek for his part just regards her for a second, those full lips of his parted in the black sea of his beard.The request clearly catches him off guard.Moving on is always complicated.





	when your mind's made up

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. All auto-correct mistakes are my own.

_ Gods, I love him. _

If the first thought that races through Aya’s mind when she sees her husband—her great, beautiful husband, Bayek—after nearly four months apart doesn’t disquiet her, the second one certainly does. 

_ And I’ll never tell him that again. _

She had seen the party’s approach led by Apollodorus and descended from her hideaway to greet them, never in a lifetime expecting Bayek to be amongst the newfound comrades. 

Blessedly, Bayek cannot read minds and he runs to her, unabashed and unafraid, pulling her into a crushing hug. “Aya, Aya,” he repeats like a mantra into her hair and ear, overwhelmed and so happy to see her, nuzzling his beard against her cheek. 

It’s all Aya can do to let him hold her. She hates that can’t bring herself to return that same level of enthusiasm; it eats at her like acid.

The soldiers and Apollodorus watch on, some of the men snickering at the display of affection. It doesn’t bother Aya in the least, really, but the last thing she wants to do is answer for her icy disposition in front of them. Or explain right after how badly she wants Bayek to fuck her.

She musters the best smile she can when Bayek pulls back, the smell of the desert flourishing around them. “We should be alone. I know a place.”

Bayek just beams back at her. 

“We’ll be back soon,” Aya says to Apollodorus, who’s already making his way back through the lush estate, that purple cape of his fluttering in the night breeze.

“Take your time.” Apollodorus waves over his shoulder, clearly having some idea of what the married couple is about to get up to. 

_ If only he knew. _

Aya leads the way through the perfectly manicured yet rambling greenery of the garden, Bayek trailing just a few paces behind. His footsteps are soft, like hers, despite his size, and he moves with the agility of her very shadow. She leads him to a trellis, which they both climb with ease, then dart across its narrow top, over the garden wall, up the side of a tower, which they scale, and finally end up in Aya’s little hideout of sorts. 

The whole trip is really only light exercise to them, but Aya fetches Bayek a drink anyway, figuring the wine would do them both some good. The top of the tower is furnished with a pile of cushions (for the nights Aya’s spent up here), a couple oil lamps, the wine, and not much else. There’s a line of wooden slats around the perimeter, more to keep anyone from seeing  _ her _ than preventing her from falling off, and there’s no roof, just uninterrupted sky above them. It’s breezy at the top, and the view of Alexandria is divine.

Bayek hums appreciatively when he accepts the cup of wine from Aya, admiring the view, then his wife. “I missed you, though I suppose that goes without saying.” 

“I missed you, too,” Aya says, hoping the sincerity of her words comes through. “I wasn’t expecting you. You surprised me.”

Bayek’s laugh booms in his chest. “To think the day would come where  _ I _ surprise the great Aya.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Aya says, taking Bayek’s cup to take a sip herself. “Just when I was asking the Gods to send me a man—they deliver my husband.”

“Asking the Gods for a man now, are you?” Bayek turns to her, plucking the cup from Aya and setting it aside. “And for what purpose?”

Channeling her younger, simpler self, Aya smiles coyly. “Why else? Is there more than one reason I should be aware of?”

“A good thing I entered the grounds before our fine host.”

Bayek’s voice is husky, thick with desire; it’s immediately obvious that he wants her just as she wants him. As lovely as a romp with Bayek sounds, full of tender caresses and loving nothings, though, Aya knows that’s not what she’s after tonight. 

She made a pact with herself. Until her son’s killers are dead, until Khemu is avenged, that part of her life is over and done with. How could she ever live with herself, dawdling with matters of the heart when such injustice remains in the world?

But even so, Aya has come to accept that she is only human, and humans, like any other animal, have needs. Embracing them from time to time, relieving an ounce of the stress that hangs heavy over her shoulders, is nothing to be ashamed of. If anything it’s what she needs to stay in top form. To stay focused. Centered. So in place of softness, Aya’s craving something hard. Something with bite. Her mouth opens to speak.

“I want you to tie me up, Bayek.”

True to form Aya’s voice is steady, the slight lilt in her words warm but her tone commanding. A stark contrast to the way her heart pounds against her ribcage and how her palms are suddenly slick with sweat. Still, she holds her husband’s gaze, unflinching and unashamed of the request. Bayek for his part just regards her for a second, those full lips of his parted in the black sea of his beard. 

The request clearly catches him off guard. 

Aya has always been one for control, ever since they were young. It was her who drove them down this bloody path of revenge on behalf of their son. Her who was sick of feeling helpless and lame, tossed between the shadowy powers that be like a trireme lost at stormy sea. 

“Aya, my love…” He entreats, a large, calloused hand reaching for her, trying to bridge the gap between them. “What’s happened?”

Aya draws back. It’s a knee jerk reaction now, and she can’t help but laugh at the irony that someone reaching for her—be it friend or foe or dear husband—draws that same reaction from her. “Not now.” She’s not too far gone to hold back a wince at the hurt in Bayek’s eyes, though. “After.” Aya crosses her arms tightly in front of her chest, her stance nearly as closed off as her heart is. She knows she shouldn’t make promises she has no intention of keeping but… “We can talk after.”

Bayek’s jaw tightens a hair, his hand hanging in the space between them. Still, he looks back at her with trust in his dark eyes, and Aya wonders, not for the first time, if he wouldn’t have been better off as a farmer or herder. A simple life suits him, she thinks, though he himself is anything but. 

But this isn’t about him; this isn’t even about  _ them _ anymore. This is animal need, body and soul tired and worn down nearly to sand. Aya is fighting,  _ has been _ fighting for so long, wrestling for the control to write her own destiny, and now she needs to let go. Let someone else take the reins. Let someone else make the decisions. Let someone else think for her, act for her, for a time. 

Aya wills herself closer to her husband, arms loosening across her chest. “You’re the only one I can ask this of, Bayek. The only one I  _ want _ to ask this of.” 

“Aya…” 

For a moment she regrets the ask. She fears she’s lost her one shot at intimacy for—for who knows how long? That’s Bayek’s concern for her will override his desire and he’ll force her to bear all, and not in the way she’d prefer to. Before she can take it back, though, Bayek reaches out and gives her forearm a firm squeeze. 

“If that’s what you would ask of me…” Bayek doesn’t look completely convinced himself, but he doesn’t let go. “I would do it.”

Aya doesn’t know whether to give her thanks or explain her desire further or what—her tongue is as jumbled as her thoughts are. 

Taking advantage of her indecision, Bayek moves closer, smoothing his hands up her arms and shoulders. “Anything you could ask of me, I would give freely. Anything that is within my power, I would do for you. But first…”

She braces for the stipulation. The catch. 

“I would very much like to kiss you.”

Aya almost laughs at how sweet he sounds. It’s unbelievable, really, how untouched by all the evils of the world he is. How he can still smile and laugh and ask for a kiss like they’re still fifteen. 

“Yes,” Aya says softly. “I…”  _ I would like that very much, also.  _ “Yes.”

He kisses her then, gentle but sure. Aya unhooks her arms and slides her palms up Bayek’s chest, combing through the dusting of chest hair over his exposed pectoral. The kiss deepens, and Aya finds herself moaning softly into it, tilting her head back. Bayek rakes a hand up her back and it comes to rest on the back of her skull, cupping it, holding her in place.

Bayek maneuvers Aya back a few paces and down, settling her comfortably amongst the pile of cushions. The kiss becomes heated in a split second, Aya parting her legs so Bayek can settle between them, two sets of hands running wild up and down each other’s bodies. Grunting, Bayek pulls and shoves aside Aya’s layers and fumbles to undo her trousers, the thin cotton things. He yanks them down off both legs when the ties are free and tosses them aside to be found later.

Aya reaches for Bayek as he next digs through the different pouches and compartments in his outfit. He pulls a length of cord from the third pocket he tries, making Aya’s breath hitch, the reality of her request hitting her.

The cord is rough, not made of leather or anything that they would typically use to actually throttle someone. Rather it’s made of several hemp fibers woven together; sturdy enough to withstand a fair amount of thrashing, but easily severable enough with a sharp blade. 

Bayek goes slow, reverently smoothing a large hand over Aya’s right thigh and calf, the hemp cord in his other hand trailing behind. Calloused warmth followed by a tepid scratch. 

Aya fights to keep the command to  _ go faster _ to herself as Bayek bends her leg, holds her ankle so her calf is flush against the back of her thigh. 

He lets go momentarily to fold the cord in half, and Aya breathes a little sigh of relief when he finally slots the cord under her thigh and ankle, then wraps it around both. Bayek ties a loose knot, just enough to hold the cord in place, those honest, honest eyes peering back at her, questioning if he should really proceed. 

Aya nods back.  _ This is what I want.  _

Watching Bayek’s clever fingers at work never grows old to Aya. They’re quick—they need to be—despite their size. Nimble in the way he wields a dagger, gentle in the way he caresses— _ caressed _ —Aya’s cheek, or loops a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She can feel the power in them underlying that gentleness through the way he tests the knots, the way he squeezes her leg as he works. It’s there, just underneath the surface. A strength and power that even Aya would have difficulty escaping, should he choose to wield it against her.

In short order Bayek laces and knots the cord in an intricate, twisting pattern down Aya’s righ thigh and lower leg, effectively fastening the two together. There’s a fair bit of excess cord hanging at the bottom, but Bayek leaves it for the time being, tracing his hands over his work. 

A shiver rockets down Aya’s spine at the combined sensation of Bayek’s hot palms and the abrasive hemp cord. She flexes her thigh to test the bonds and finds them tight enough for her needs. Already Aya can feel herself growing wet in anticipation.

Satisfied with his knots—knots Aya recognizes as intended to hold but not harm—Bayek pushes open Aya’s leg, revealing all: the black thatch of curls, the sheen of stray wetness on her inner thigh. Bayek growls, low and deep in his throat, but he doesn’t make to touch her there yet. 

Instead, Bayek grabs Aya’s right wrist and brings it down to her bound leg. Eyes trained on his work, Bayek takes the remaining length of the cord and wraps it round Aya’s wrist, then knots it to her leg, fastening it in place.

Aya tests the hold as Bayek pulls back his hands. The cord is tight around her wrist and snuggly fastened to her thigh, the combination hardly leaving any slack. Aya nods, satisfied with Bayek’s handiwork, but he isn’t looking at her now.

Rather, Bayek grabs Aya’s still free arm and forces it up over her head.  The angle forces Aya to lie back, and though her core is tight, bracing for what comes next, she allows Bayek to hold her wrist against the wooden slats behind her. Wordlessly he undoes the sash around his waist and uses it to tie her wrist up. It’s more of a slapdash move, there’s no intricate knotting like on her leg, but it gets the job done and keeps Aya’s arm outstretched and out of the way.

A heat overtakes Aya’s face despite this being her idea. It’s a perfectly natural reaction, given the way Bayek’s looking at her, how nothing’s left secret or hidden. Instinctually, Aya moves to close her left leg, but Bayek swiftly stops her with a heavy hand on her thigh.

Bayek parts his lips, maybe to ask if he ought to tie up her left leg, but ultimately remains silent. Though his grip on her thigh remains tight, Bayek’s touch with his other hand is light as air. 

Aya bites down a moan as Bayek traces the curve of her labia with a fingertip. She gets ahold of the sash around her raised arm and grips it hard in anticipation, palm already damp with sweat. 

Bayek shifts his attentions, smoothing his palms over her thighs and hip bones, up her ribcage to her covered breasts. He looks up at her finally, pupils blown out with desire. Bayek squeezes her breasts, rubs the pads of this thumbs over her nipples as they stiffen against her top. 

Straining against her bonds already, Aya bucks her hips, urging Bayek to return his attentions south. There’s another growl, deep in this throat, as he obliges. Fingertips skate down Aya’s torso and settle between her thighs, thumbs spreading her to see all that there is to see. Greedy and impatient, Aya bucks her hips up again, coaxing Bayek on, urging him to continue. 

Agile as always, Bayek settles down on his stomach and rubs his bearded jaw against Aya’s bound thigh. She’s always been fond of Bayek’s beard, thick and coarse as it is, but knows it must be murder on him in the desert heat. Aya doesn’t know why he’s grown it out; maybe he just hasn’t had the time to shave. Her line of thought is interrupted the instant Bayek brings his full lips to her heat. Using the tip of his tongue, Bayek draws a little circle around her entrance as a calloused thumb rubs circles around her clit. 

Aya gasps sharply, fists tight where they’re tied. It’s been… how long since they last laid together? Too long, she figures, since she can’t recall. After months of sand and grit and unforgiving heat, Bayek’s tongue is a godsend. 

“ _ Bayek, _ ” she moans, wishing she had a hand free to grab his hair, hold him tight against her. 

He groans against her, mouth wet and hot on her clit as he sucks and licks. His beard offers a constant, pleasant scratch to her inner thighs, as his thumb pressed against her entrance offers a unerring pressure. Bayek’s entire body radiates heat and his grasp on her is firm and sure. 

Aya’s wet, her clit swollen and sensitive, nipples peaked and hard. The irony of the effect of Bayek’s command over her body isn’t lost on her— _ Aya, the fearless Medjay; kingkiller and warrior _ . Not one to be so docile and passive.  _ And yet... _

She doesn’t let the contrast between her demeanor in and out of bed weigh on her now, though. How could she, anyway, with how good Bayek’s mouth feels on her? How wonderful the sound of him lapping up her wetness, enjoying  _ every  _ second of it, sounds?

As eager as Aya is for  _ more, more, more,  _ Bayek is intent on taking his time. The suction isn’t half-assed, but his tongue and lips go slow, drawing out each needy groan from Aya, making her writhe and pull against the bindings. 

Aya lets out a broken cry when Bayek  _ does _ give her more, pressing his blunt thumb inside of her. Her knee jerk response is to try and close her thighs, to which Bayek easily prevents, fingers digging into the meat of her free thigh. She clenches down on Bayek’s thumb, tight and hot, the intrusion not unwanted in the least, but somewhat unfamiliar after so many months. 

She’s a sweaty, squirming mess in mere minutes as Bayek continues to suck and lick and fuck her shallowly with his thumb. He allows her to drape her left leg over his shoulder, and she can’t help but dig her heel in at the back of his neck. 

By now Bayek is just as worked up as Aya is and throws himself into getting her off. Aya arches her back, squirms, then thrashes, against her bindings as the tension builds in her core, tingles and shivers shooting up and down her spine as trickles of sweat dance between her shoulder blades. 

Vaguely, she’s aware of her cries as her orgasm sparks through her, but everything sounds distant as the raw sensation swirls through her, the pleasure almost overwhelming. When harried tingling subsides and Aya’s senses return to her, she can feel Bayek breathing deeply against her, thumb still inside of her. 

Aya next becomes aware of the burning sensation on her thigh and bound wrist; she has rope bite, she’s sure, but she’s had  _ far, far worse _ before. They aren’t done here, she thinks, head and chest swimming with unsated desire. Applying pressure with her heel, Aya wiggles her hips to encourage Bayek to look at her.

“I need you—fuck me, Bayek.”

Truly, Aya is blessed to have such a kind and obliging husband.

In no short order does Bayek have his layers pushed out of the way and his cock out from his trousers, thick and hard in all its glory. Gathering some of Aya’s wetness with his hand, Bayek smears it down his length, pulling down his foreskin to reveal the purple-red tip. 

Aya moans at the sight, at the knowledge that he is achingly hard for her. She doesn’t have to ask him twice to  _ use _ his cock, as next thing she knows Bayek’s hauling her up by the hips and lining himself up with her entrance. Aya lets out a shaky laugh at how aroused he is, his cock slipping against her a few times before he finds his mark. Her laugh transforms to a high keen when he does find his way in, though, and slides deep inside.

The sash is tight on Aya’s left wrist, her arm growing sore at the pull, but she doesn’t think to complain about it for an instant. Rather, Aya wraps her free leg around Bayek’s waist, holding him close, the words  _ ‘fuck me’ _ on her lips instead of  _ ‘be gentle.’ _

Always keen to her needs, Bayek wastes little time and thrusts his hips up, nice and deep. Well endowed as he is it’s a tight fit, but as Bayek performs his first few experimental thrusts, Aya relishes in the familiarity of it. He was her first, the romantic side of her swearing he’ll also be the only, and he fills her magnificently. From Bayek’s little groan and grunts, Aya knows he must be thinking something along the same lines. 

Aya loosens her leg around Bayek’s waist, allowing him more freedom to fuck her. He does so, powerfully and hastily, droplets of sweat collecting at his hairline and dripping down his face. Aya wants to touch him, to rake her hands through his chest hair, feel his heart pounding against his firm pectoral. She yanks at the sash holding her arm raised, and in reply Bayek roughly shoves up her top, revealing her breasts.

Bayek proceeds fucks her, strong and deep, squeezing Aya’s breast with one hand and thumbing her swollen clit with the other. 

Aya holds her thighs spread wide for him, taking everything Bayek gives. Both are panting and moaning before long, bodies drenched in sweat. 

Bayek leans down and claims Aya’s mouth in a wet and sloppy open-mouthed kiss, his tongue sliding over hers. Aya’s eyes fall shut and she moans into it, the edges of her mind going pleasantly hazy and blank for the first time in  _ too long. _

Tension builds again in Aya’s stomach and thighs, a second orgasm rapidly building as Bayek works her clit. It comes crashing over her without warning and she tucks her chin down, ending the kiss, but Bayek presses his forehead to hers, his hot breath washing over her face. Aya’s muscles pulse around Bayek’s cock as she comes, thighs juddering, trying to close but held open as Bayek fucks her through it. 

“My wife, my wife,” Bayek intones, his mouth traveling across her cheek to her jaw, down her neck and over her throat. “I love you, Aya.”

Aya squeezes her eyes shut tightly, jaw fiercely tight. For all that she wanted to relinquish her control, she can’t stop the next words from leaving her tongue. “Untie my hand, husband.”

With her eyes shut, Aya doesn’t see how Bayek regards her, but a few seconds later she can feel him pulling at the knot at her wrist. It takes a few rough tugs for her to be freed, but once she is Aya springs to action. 

Eyes flash open and Aya coils her hand around Bayek’s neck, pulling him back to her mouth. The smell of their lovemaking is intoxicating, the heat enough to make Aya feel faint. But she holds Bayek close to her, her grip on his neck only loosening  enough for him to dip down and take her nipple into his mouth.

Aya caresses every inch of Bayek she can reach, a steady reassurance as his thrusting grows erratic. “Come inside,” she breathes, “deep inside.” A stray thought of the proper herbs to chew after to ensure his seed does not take passes through her mind but she wills it away. Her mothering days are long over, yes, her days for love and sweetness. But animalistic desire is different and she leans fully into it, urging Bayek on.

He lets go of Aya’s breast with a light  _ pop,  _ and slots his face into the crook of her neck. Bayek’s breath is scorching against her skin and he murmurs nothings into her as he comes undone piece by piece, bit by bit. 

Aya reaches down and squeezes Bayek’s ass hard, pushes him into her where his rhythm falters. “Come for me,” she urges, kissing the side of Bayek’s head. “Just let go.”

Bayek nuzzles in closer, into the crook of her neck, his beard a rough and constant comfort. His lips are hot on her skin, a mix of sloppy, haphazard kisses and bites, and there’s a grunt in his throat that steadily transforms into a roar as he comes, filling Aya with his hot finish. 

The rush of his seed, throb of his cock, and sound of Bayek’s shattered moans are enough to bring Aya over the edge once more, and she clings to her husband with all her remaining strength to ride out the sensation. His hips slow to a shuddering standstill, cock rooted deep inside, and both just breathe, sweaty chests pressed together. 

Aya’s eyes close and she lets herself drift for a time, mind pleasantly blank and free of worry and duty. Idly she strokes Bayek’s thick head of hair, and the corner of her mouth curls up in a small smile as their heartbeats seem to synchronize, steady and even. 

“I love you,” Bayek murmurs, lazily tipping his head back to kiss Aya’s jaw. 

_ And I love you, _ Aya thinks, but instead of replying verbally, she draws him into a soft, languid kiss. 

Bayek’s rubbing his hands over her through it all, reassuring and gentle, loving through and through. He doesn’t ask her to repeat the mantra back to him, to reavow her love. Aya is grateful for that, but she also knows that her actions here and now speak far more loudly than her words. 

Seems as though she’s not as ready to close the book on that part of her life just yet after all. 

When the pleasant haze of their lovemaking fades, the sharp bite of the hemp cord on her thigh and wrist comes shooting back to the front of Aya’s mind. She wriggles underneath Bayek, still heavy and languid on top of her, to remind him and he blinks, then springs to action. 

Untying the knots seems too complicated for them both right now, so Bayek springs the loaded dagger on his wrist and uses it to cut through the cord freeing her. There’s a mix of rope burn and patterned indentations on her leg and wrist, and it’s almost pretty, she thinks, as she turns her arm over to see it all. 

“Easy now,” Bayek says as he helps her straighten her leg. It’s sore from being bent for so long but she’s experienced far worse at the hand of other captors. This was done with love, a point underlined by the way Bayek checks her over for any serious bruises or welts. 

Knowing him, he’ll bring her a salve of some sort later and an apology, though both are unneeded. Aya’s heart aches at the thought. 

“Thank you,” Aya says as she fixes her top. She reaches down to find her trousers, a task Bayek helps with, grabbing them and easing them up. Only when her clothes are back in place does Bayek tuck himself away and straightens his own attire. 

“Of course. That was… what you wanted?”

There’s a hint of doubt in his voice. Aya swoops in before the seeds can take root. 

“Yes,” she assures, bracketing Bayek’s face with her hands. “That was just what I needed.” She rubs a thumb over Bayek’s lower lip, which Bayek in turn presses a kiss to. 

“Perhaps now we can talk?”

Aya takes in a small breath, presses her lips into a line. “Let me clean up first.”

Bayek nods, almost as surprised as she is that she agreed. 

Aya tries to push herself up, finds her leg still too weak. Bayek quickly notices her discomfort and moves to help her up. As soon as Aya gets to her feet Bayek settles down amongst the cushions on his back, a warm, contented smile curling on his lips. 

“Don’t take too long,” he says, watching her with his gaze full of love. 

Aya turns, cocking an eyebrow. “Or what? You’ll come and collect me?” 

“I’d walk through the duat for you, Aya. Anything to bring you back to my arms.”

His dreamy expression mismatches the seriousness of his words, but Aya knows he’s speaking the truth. Bayek’s love for her, for their son, is as deep as it is boundless. 

“Alright,” Aya replies. “I’ll be quick.”

Bayek nods, eyelids already heavy with exhaustion. Knowing him, he’ll be asleep soon, making the whole point of coming back quickly moot. Still, Aya finds herself wanting to return to his arms, wanting to curl up against him. Talking, explaining just what is going on in her mind is… still hard. But returning to her husband, allowing herself that unfailing comfort? 

That she can do.


End file.
